Soldier's Christmas Secrets

TWO

Battling guilt, Hawk silently followed Jillian into the living room and began making a fire in the wood-burning stove to heat up the cabin. He hadn’t meant to frighten her, but given the way she’d bolted out of the room, he knew he must have. He’d worked hard over the past several months to remain nonthreatening. To provide help without getting too close.

But discovering Lizzy was his daughter had changed things. He’d wanted to peer down at her tiny face while she slept. He’d wanted the right to bend down to kiss her forehead and whisper good-night.

Unfortunately, his life, the life he should have had, remained far out of reach. Maybe forever.

Not that it should matter. There were more important things to worry about at the moment. Like who’d sent professional assassins to Jillian’s home. To kidnap them? Or kill them? Kidnapping he could understand, because it would be a way to use Jillian and Lizzy as leverage against him. But killing them made no sense.

It occurred to him that if his real identity had been uncovered, then the assassins would have come directly to his house, not Jillian’s. Which meant his current identity was safe.

For now.

Yet he knew his recent probing into Rick Barton’s past had not gone unnoticed. Senator Barton was a powerful man in Washington, DC, but very few knew the truth about how Barton had climbed the ranks. Hawk must have gotten close enough to discover certain information about Barton to trip someone’s suspicions.

Almost two years had passed since he’d begun to remember his past, yet it also felt as if it had only happened yesterday. His memory had more holes in it than Swiss cheese. He hadn’t even remembered Jillian right away. Memories and images had come to him in bits and pieces.

He was the only special ops soldier who knew the truth about what happened in Afghanistan, and even then, he didn’t have a good memory to guide him. The other members of his team who’d been with him that fateful day were gone. Powerful men had tried to silence him once. They wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. It was up to him to expose the truth.

Too bad he had no idea whom he could trust.

When he finished with the fire, he stood. “I’ll make coffee.”

Hawk went into the kitchen and opened the cabinet that housed the coffee maker. He filled the carafe with water and added scoops of coffee from the can he kept in the freezer. As the coffee dripped, he did a quick mental inventory of his house back in Brookland. He had no doubt that at some point the professional hit men would go back to the scene of their failure, eventually identifying him as the one who’d helped Jillian and Lizzy escape.

They wouldn’t find anything personal at his place. He didn’t have a home office, preferring, instead, to work in the small space he rented in the strip mall not far from where he lived. The only information he kept at his office was related to his clients. All of his personal paperwork, most of which had been expertly forged two years ago, was kept in a safe deposit box at the bank.

For years, he’d thought his secret was safe. Until now. How long before the hit men put two and two together to figure out that Hawk Jacobson was really James Wade?

Based on the extensive governmental resources he believed Barton had at his disposal? Not long.

Feeling grim, he realized they’d be forced to move locations first thing in the morning. And go where? He had no clue.

“I can’t drink coffee this late,” Jillian said. He glanced over to find her standing on the other side of the room, her arms crossed over her chest as if she didn’t dare get too close. “But I think we need to call the police. Now. Tonight.”

He didn’t answer, mostly because he wasn’t sure what to say. He wanted, needed to tell her the truth, but this didn’t seem like the proper time or place.

She wouldn’t appreciate his view that going to the authorities could very well be like stepping on a rotten log, allowing professional hit men to pour out like termites.

“Calling the police is what normal people do,” Jillian insisted. “Just because you happen to be a private investigator, it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t let the authorities know that two men came into my house with weapons with the intent to kill me.”

“Actually, we don’t really know what they intended to do.”

She scowled. “I’m pretty sure they didn’t intend to play nice with their guns.”

It was a good point. He decided to probe further. “Does the name Senator Barton mean anything to you?”

She blinked in confusion. “Senator Rick Barton? Not really. I mean, I know he sits on a committee related to the Department of Defense, but I can’t even tell you what state he’s from or what he looks like.”

“He sits on the Armed Services Committee,” Hawk corrected. “He’s a senator from Virginia and happens to be good friends with Todd Hayes, the current Secretary of Defense.” He waited for some sort of recognition to dawn in her eyes, but she only shrugged.

“Yeah, okay. That sounds right. I’m not totally up on all the players in our government, but whatever. I don’t see what either of those guys has to do with your decision to postpone calling the police.”

“Powerful people in high places can convince the cops to turn a blind eye to what might be happening under their nose.” He hesitated, the holes in his memory making it difficult to say anything with certainty. All he remembered was seeing Major Rick Barton deep in the hills where he wasn’t supposed to be. He sensed there was more but couldn’t bring the fragments of his memory together into a full picture.

Now she looked annoyed. “Oh, come on—” She abruptly cut off what she was about to say when Lizzy began to cry.

“Mommy! Mommy! Bad mans are coming to get me!”

Jillian spun on her heel and charged into the bedroom. Hawk stayed where he was, unwilling to add to Lizzy’s frightened state. He knew she’d watched him holding a gun on one of the intruders and was reliving that scary moment in her nightmares.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. He needed to think. To understand what was going on so he could plan his next steps. A good soldier always had at least one backup plan.

Several things bothered him. Why had Barton decided to send hit men after Jillian tonight? The fact that James Wade had married her five years ago wasn’t a secret. The army knew about Jillian, they’d provided her benefits while he was overseas, and he assumed they’d provided death benefits after he’d been pronounced dead, despite how they’d obviously never found his body.

So why now?

And why not wait until the dead of night rather than 10:30 p.m.? The two guys had been professionals, but they were clearly not prepared to face an opponent like Hawk—someone with equal or better training than they had. Whoever provided the intel must have mentioned they were facing a grade school teacher and a four-year-old child. Not a soldier.

The burn of anger at the thought of those two men getting their hands on Jillian and Lizzy was difficult to ignore. But anger, much like indecision, was the enemy.

He took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. He toyed with the idea of calling Mike Callahan, a former private investigator he’d once worked with. Mike had recently gotten married and had taken a position with the sheriff’s department. Mike owed him a favor, and Hawk could easily collect. Not that he’d really have to use the favor as leverage. Hawk knew that Mike, or any of the Callahan siblings, would help him out, no questions asked. That was the type of family they were. The Callahans had welcomed him into their home and made him feel like he was one of them.

Still, he preferred to work alone. At least for now. But he wouldn’t risk any harm coming to Jillian or Lizzy.

What he really wanted to do was to stash Jillian and Lizzy someplace safe while he continued working the case. Should he send her to stay with the Callahans? They were about the only people he trusted. Yet at the same time, he didn’t dare let Jillian and Lizzy out of his sight.

Not when he knew that he was the only reason they were in danger.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, fighting a wave of exhaustion. Jillian deserved to know the truth about his real identity. Yet he worried how she’d react. Five months ago, when he’d found her, he had moved in next door as a way to help her out. He’d noticed the plain gold wedding ring on her finger without the diamond engagement ring he’d given her. That, along with her little girl, had convinced him she’d moved on with another man. He couldn’t blame her since he was legally dead.

But he’d been wrong.

He had a daughter. The news was stunning and he realized he should have figured it out sooner. He wanted to talk to Jillian but feared she’d be upset with him when she learned the truth. And worst of all, she might feel as if she needed to stay with him to honor their five-year-old wedding vows despite the horrible scars that grooved his face.

She was the beauty and he was the beast. With a face that scared Lizzy. He hated knowing his own daughter was frightened of him. Yet he couldn’t change who he was. Who he’d become.

When it was clear Jillian wasn’t returning to the kitchen to pick up the conversation where they’d left it off, he dumped the dregs of his coffee in the sink and made his way into his room.

Tomorrow morning, he’d have several decisions to make. They’d need a new place to go and they needed to air the truth.

If she was angry with him, then fine. He’d take her anger over her pity any day of the week.

Jillian fell asleep comforting Lizzy, only to wake up at dawn with a crick in her neck.

Stretching with a muffled groan, she eased out from Lizzy’s bed. She tiptoed out of the room to use the bathroom and then headed into the kitchen, shivering a bit in the cool air.

There was no sign of Hawk. Clearly, he hadn’t followed through on her request to call the police.

Even now his reluctance made no sense. But enough was enough. Better late than never, right? She went over to her purse and dug out her cell phone.

One bar, indicating the battery was nearly dead. Great. She didn’t have a charger and, from what she could tell, there wasn’t one around here, either. The place was comfortable but rustic.

She stared at the screen, wondering who would respond if she called 911. Surely not anyone from the Brookland Police Department, which was where the crime had taken place.

“What are you doing?”

Hawk’s hoarse voice was so unexpected she let out a yelp and almost dropped the phone.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that.” She knew she sounded cranky, but seriously, the man needed to wear a cowbell around his neck.

“Don’t call the police yet. Not until we talk.”

Now he was reading her mind? Ugh. She turned the phone off to preserve what was left of her battery and tucked it into the pocket of her sweatshirt. “Talking isn’t exactly your strength,” she felt compelled to point out.

The right corner of his mouth kicked up in what may have been the hint of a smile. The first she’d ever seen from him. “Maybe not, but you’ll want to hear my story.”

His story? The one behind his scar? He was right about that, since she’d been wondering about his story for the past five months.

“Sounds like we’ll need coffee.” She moved into the kitchen and made a fresh pot of coffee. While she did that Hawk opened a cupboard and pulled out a box of instant oatmeal packets.

“This is about all I have on hand for breakfast,” he said, his voice full of apology. “Or we can stop for breakfast when we leave.”

“Leave?” Once again he knocked her off-balance. “Why are we leaving so soon?”

He didn’t answer right away, a trait that annoyed her.

“Well?” She pulled two mugs out of the cabinet and set them beside the coffeepot. “I thought you said we were safe here.”

He filled a teapot with water and put it on the stove. “We are, but it’s only a matter of time before they track us here.”

Her stomach clenched. “They? Who?”

“The men who came for you last night. They’ll find out my name and will search for my license plate number and for any other properties that I might own. That will lead them here, to this cabin.”

His words sent a chill down her spine. “Okay, now you’re scaring me.”

“I know. I’m sorry, but we’ll stay one step ahead of them.”

She poured two mugs of coffee and, since there wasn’t any milk, made do with adding sugar to hers before handing him the one that was black. Their fingers brushed and she was startled by the tingle of awareness she felt. What was wrong with her? This was the wrong time, wrong place and definitely the wrong man!

“You said we need to talk.”

He nodded before taking a sip from his mug. “It’s a long story, goes back a couple of years.”

“Okay.” She took a seat at the table. “I’m listening.”

“I used to be in the military,” he said, his blue gaze centered on hers.

“I thought so,” she said with a nod. “Just like James.” At his silent stare, she added, “My husband.”

“Yeah. Well.” Hawk looked away, clearly uncomfortable. “I—I did a lot of work that was considered classified.”

Just like James, but this time she didn’t voice the comparison out loud.

“I was on a team with three other guys,” he went on and suddenly a bad feeling came over her.

“You were with James, weren’t you? Is that what you’ve been trying to tell me? That you knew my husband?” She knew her voice was getting louder but couldn’t stop it. “All this time, you knew James but never said anything?”

“Jilly, please, just listen for a minute,” he begged.

She sucked in a harsh breath. “What did you call me?”

Hawk winced and blanched. “I—uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so familiar...”

“No.” She rose to her feet and took a step back from him, her mind whirling. He’d called her Jilly, just like James used to.

Then she remembered that brief moment in the bedroom when she’d thought Hawk was actually James. She stared at him, her thoughts spinning out of control.

“Jillian, I’m sorry to tell you like this. But I was sent on a secret mission, and me and my team saw something we shouldn’t have. We were flown home to be debriefed by the Pentagon, only there was a storm that took us further west. We ended up landing in Columbus, Ohio, and they stuck us in a small prop plane. We crashed in the Appalachian Mountains. Everyone died in the crash except for me. And I—” his voice trailed off for a long moment before he continued “—I was badly injured. I had no memory, no ability to walk, my face was damaged beyond recognition and I still don’t know how I managed to survive.”

“You—you’re James?” The blood drained from her face and she collapsed in the chair she’d just vacated. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m Hawk,” he corrected. “I didn’t even remember my name for a full year. I only remember watching hawks flying over my head for days on end, so that’s the name I went with. I picked Jacobson because I had some dim memory of my father being named Jacob.”

Her heart squeezed in her chest at what he’d gone through. Then she realized what he’d said. “But you did eventually realize you were James, right? And chose not to come home to me. To us.”

“That’s not entirely true. I didn’t remember you right away, and when I did, there were only bits and pieces. I stayed away because after the crash I saw men combing the woods, searching for me.” Hawk’s expression went cold. “They were not there to rescue me but to kill me. They had guns, Jilly. And if the older couple who’d found me hadn’t sheltered me from those men, I wouldn’t be here now.”

“But what about five months ago?” she persisted. “You moved in next door to me on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” The teakettle whistled and he quickly removed it from the burner. “I came to Milwaukee because I knew you had family here and wouldn’t have stayed at Fort Bragg. Even then, it took me a while to find you in Brookland. Once I did, I couldn’t stay away. I needed to make sure you were safe.”

She couldn’t argue that he had saved them.

“I want you to know I won’t hold you to anything,” Hawk continued. “James as you knew him is gone. Hawk was the lone survivor of that plane crash. Where we go from here is totally up to you.”

“Where we go from here?” The realization of what he was saying sank deep.

Hawk was James. He was her husband. Lizzy’s father.

And she had absolutely no idea where to go from here.

THREE

Hawk busied himself with making a bowl of instant oatmeal for Jillian. The truth hung between them like a dark storm cloud, threatening to burst, bringing snow and ice pelting down. Telling her the story wasn’t as difficult as he’d anticipated, but he wasn’t sure the truth had fully sunk in yet.

He’d been honest with her when he’d claimed James was dead. That year he spent hiding in the mountains, recuperating from his injuries, had changed him. James had died in the plane crash, leaving a man called Hawk behind.

That he’d survived when the rest of his team had died haunted him still. The Callahans would claim God had a plan, but he didn’t believe it. Not the way he used to. He’d lost his entire life that day.

Even now, sometimes he awoke from a nightmare, hearing his team’s screams as the plane plummeted down into the mountainside. Only to realize it was his throat that was sore from screaming.

His time on the mountain was a blur. He’d lost track of the days that had passed, the hours that had gone by while he watched a pair of hawks flying high in the sky. He’d dragged himself down the mountain, inch by painful inch, with no particular destination in mind. Thankfully, he’d eventually come across a cabin tucked into the woods. It was actually the garden offering fresh vegetables that had caught his eye. He’d been helping himself to fresh tomatoes and cucumbers when Jolene and Ken Thornhill had found him.

Ken had carried a shotgun, but one look at Hawk’s scars had him putting the weapon away. Hawk had convinced them not to call the authorities, and the couple, being mountain people and distrustful of the cops anyway, had readily agreed. The Thornhills helped get him back on his feet. Their home remedies worked just as well as any hospital-based therapy.

Except for the scar.

And when the men with guns had come looking for him, they’d hidden him in their root cellar until they were gone. Hawk was convinced the men were soldiers sent by Barton to find him and silence him for good. Especially since the plane had gone down after conveniently springing a fuel leak.

He owed the Thornhills his life. But they hadn’t wanted any form of payment. He’d sent them cash when he’d managed to work enough to get some, but the money had come back to him as undeliverable.

Shaking himself from thoughts of the past, he carried the bowl of oatmeal to the table and set it in front of Jillian. She hadn’t said anything for the past several minutes and, even now, avoided looking directly at him.

“Eat,” he encouraged softly. “You’ll need to keep up your strength.”

She obediently picked up the spoon and took a small bite. Lizzy chose that moment to come out of the bedroom rubbing her sleepy eyes, looking adorable in her pink footie pajamas.